I lost my muse somewhere.
I have lost count of the days wherein I said ‘okay, I am going to write today’, and then I don’t.
Feels like a missing limb.
Used to be there, feels like it should be there, itches like it’s there, but it ain’t.
I have set alarms to wake me mid dreaming, drank extra coffee, fasted. The words just aren’t coming.
I haven’t even really posted here.
This is my warmup exercise.
I am also reading Henry and June by Anais Nin, which isn’t helping to inspire. It’s just a diary really.
That I have down, I don’t need inspiration nor instruction.
After the election and the great internet debate about Kamala Harris’ affair 22 years ago, I really wanted to climb up on my soapbox and scream, HER VAGINA IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. And I still might.
I just feel like angels could descend from heaven bearing gifts of golden pomegranates and there would be a rousing chorus from the anti-fruit people and the pro silver people.
It is exhausting.
I am writing a new book about witches after the end of the world, and honestly, as someone who can never admit when I do something good, it’s really fucking good. I remember the rush when it came, I wrote for hours on end, for a week or so solid. I wanted to see what was going to happen next.
But now the two main characters have finally met, and I have to rip them apart again and I don’t want to.
I am frustrated. All these magical days happening in rapid succession. Feels like the Lion’s Gate portal all over again, but I am standing on the sidelines.
Just a cosmic observation.
Let’s wander back to March for a second.
We had a Friday the 13th in conjunction with a Mercury retrograde and some moon moon madness.
And the global madness kicked into high gear.
Mars is stationing direct on this Friday the 13th after spending months spinning backwards and fucking shit up. Plus, we just had a blue moon on the thinnest day for the veils between worlds and Mercury is heading out of shadow phase.
Whatever tangled itself so badly in March is now in the process of coming undone. The cogs in the universe that have been grinding and stuck are about to start moving fluidly again.
I feel massive change coming.
And the prophecy from Dark Crystal keeps repeating in my head.
What was sundered and undone, shall be whole, the two made one.
I’m feeling optimistic. Like overly so, palpably so. Enthusiastically so.
But.
(why does there have to be a but?)
I am jealous, all of my witchy bitches are experiencing necromancy, channeling and inspirations galore. Powering up and coming into their own. And I feel like I am stagnating. Like I am late to the party, but I don’t even have the address.
I want my magic back, and if not my magic, my muse.
I know it is partially me. My fault. I went back to perdition, knowing full well it is a void. I have been spending way too much time on my phone. The complicated solitaire game I downloaded to kill the dead time at the bar, then deleted, has been reinstalled and I have conquered 60 more levels, which is good for tiny rushes of serotonin, but at what cost? So much time wasted and although it might be helping me stave off Alzheimer’s, it is doing nothing for my creativity.
Maybe it’s my mindset.
I do have a lot of gratitude, but maybe I am not showing it.
I mean I have chicory coffee in my cup and a fridge full of my most favorite things. I found this yogurt that is like a happy orgasm in my mouth with every bite. I have money in the bank and the roof I am under is lovely. I can walk outside, and the air doesn’t hurt my face. These are all good things.
Technically, geographically I am in a very good place right now. I adore the little apartment I am currently staying in. It did take a lot of magic, luck and planning to get where I am now. The thing is, I think I want to stay which would be so much easier if I could get this new book out of my head, out of the ether and into the world. Relocating will also take a lot of luck, magic and planning. And I think this is the trip that decides ‘should I stay or should I go’.
I posted a pic, and a status of ‘want’, to which my Kittenface Kayla girl replied,
“Manifest it my love. You know you can. Not everyone can. But YOU can. ”
I can, I know this, so why is all my power eluding me? Or is it?
I mean I am here.
And in the 11th hour…
I finally I have some answers about my health.
That was kinda the big, bad distraction of this season of my life. Reoccurring, debilitating pain that couldn’t be massaged, medicated or stretched away. Led me to a walk-in clinic, 17 separate appointments for x-rays, ultrasounds, urine tests, and ECG, a retinal exam and the extraction and examination of about a pint of my blood.
I did a full STI screening again, for peace of mind.
Good news is, I am rather healthy. Everything that was supposed to be negative, was. My white blood cells are doing what they are supposed to be doing. I am a little low in iron and B12, but as the keeper of a vagina, this is not news.
There was some bad news.
On October 26th I was diagnosed with Lyme disease.
Today I take the last of the antibiotics they use to treat it.
I am going to finish them regardless.
Ya, ya, I took the blue pills.
You see dear readers, a week ago I was ‘undiagnosed’, for lack of a better term.
Cliff’s notes, there are 2 tests for Lyme. One is reactionary, they add my blood to some liquid and if it turns a color, I have it. Like a pregnancy test in a way, you are or you aren’t. The other test is a blot test so some person in a lab coat looks at my blood under a microscope and physically searches for the antibodies to the Lyme bacteria. I don’t have those. It takes substantially longer to process, hence the delay and the confusion. I had another blot test last week, I am quite confident it too will be negative.
(it was)
At the beginning of this I did not quite make the mental leap that what is ACTUALLY happening in my body could trigger a real false positive. I just thought the symptoms were so similar that they were easily mistaken for each other.
Not so.
Silicone migration triggers the same inflammation as Lyme’s and Lupus among other things.
I got kinda lost in my diagnosis, as anyone would, I felt dirty and unclean. I was terrified of the ramifications of such a delayed diagnosis. I tried to stay positive and decided once my body was clear of the bacteria, I could start healing. I went for the tests to make sure it hadn’t damaged my heart, eyes and spine.
But I forgot one really important thing along the way.
I walked into that clinic 5 weeks ago stating, ‘I think something is wrong with my implants, but we have to eliminate all of these things first.’ I have a vague recollection of writing about it here.
The last appointment I had was an ultrasound, I had to jump through all the other hoops to get to that one. And voila, the sweet technician listened to me, took her time and found the rupture.
These tits I have are 9 years old. The last bastion of trying to keep my husband from cheating on me. I became addicted to and abused the pain medication for months afterwards.
Physically, the implants themselves settled badly.
Emotionally, I healed incredibly well after I left him. My eating disorder has been conquered to the point wherein I am carrying an extra 20+ pounds over what I weighed when I was married and depressed, resulting in a cup size discrepancy on either side. Also I have a booty now, a good juicy booty.
Maybe I am manifesting. Things that have long bothered me subconsciously coming into the spotlight and both facilitating and downright demanding amendment.
Maybe my magic is so big I can’t see the edges of it.
The witches I am jealous of, are a decade younger than I, and I remember the exhilaration of realizing what I was. But it was also scary and overwhelming. Maybe my cogs are turning exactly how they are supposed to be, nice and smooth.
Regardless of what my tiny human brain can rationalize, I am exactly where I am supposed to be, or I would be somewhere else.
This is what is, and honestly, it is what I want.
Maybe I am just not used to contentment this complete.
Now to open that other tab and start working on something with substance and a future.
Inspiration exists, it just has to find you working ~ Picasso
I love your writing.
Earthy, real, honest